A Dixon Generation
by Winged Pages
Summary: 20 years after the Turn. Cherokee Rose is 16, and an utter terror to new Sheriff, Carl Grimes. It's been 10 years since her parents died, since Rick took her in as a foster father. But Rosie can't seem to stay out of trouble. When Rosie is arrested, Rick decides to send her to live with her Aunt Maggie and Uncle Glenn back on the family farm, where survival is still a must.


**So this just came to me over the course of a few doodles. Don't know how in-depth I'm going with it yet (and I certainly don't have an update schedule or anything like that). Leave reviews and let me know how you like it. I'll keep updating if you truly want me to.  
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 _I can still feel the flames licking my skin...smell the smoke and burning flesh...hear the screams telling me to get out, run away, into the safety of the woods. But I can't move. I'm just standing there like the six-year-old idiot I was, too fearful to run away from the sight of mother and father burning to a crisp. No...I kept peeking through the crack in the cupboard I was stashed in before evil men came and incinerated my childhood. All I can do is clutch my father's vest for dear life, praying over and over again to an uncaring God that this would all go away!_

Rosie's eyes flashed open, and for a moment she was unsure of where she was. Her pulse was quick, breathing unsteady. Rosie felt around vaguely with her left hand, looking for something familiar to latch hands reached behind her head, under the pillow, feeling the familiar cool metal on bone of her father's hunting knife. She was never without it. It was her lifeline to reality, the thing which kept her grounded and alive, that and a ratty old angel wings vest her father used to wear all the time. It was all Rosie had left of the past, _her_ past.

Rosie cast a glance out the window, the sun hanging low in the sky. Typical; she'd slept most of the morning away, went to work, went back to bed… That was how her life worked, every day. But what else was there for Rosie to look forward to?

Sighing, she hopped off the trashed bed, looking back over her shoulder at the lump of a body snoring loudly underneath threadbare covers. She arches one eyebrow ever so slightly. "Who's he again?" Her voice was slightly slurred. She was hungover for sure, but still coherent. She just shook her head. Once again, she'd fucked up, quite literally. "God… I really don't know his name…" Rosie just sighed and hung her head in her hands. "I need a shower." Slowly she dragged herself from the raggedy old bed and trudged to the bathroom. She only briefly glanced at herself in the mirror. She didn't want to see how strung out she was, on booze, pills, sex... Last time, she didn't know the person staring back at her.

The hot water relieved her numerous regrets, if only momentarily. The heat reminded her of fire; it burned like Hell, but at least through pain she knew she was alive. Everything started out fine; Rosie had a perfect childhood until that one fateful night, the one that haunted her to this day. Ten years she'd been inside Alexandria, very rarely on good behavior. Rick had come up to check on the Daryl and Beth, like every Sunday past, but instead of finding the ranch and Dixon family all safe and sound sitting at the dinner table, it was all just a pile of ash and molten flesh. Standing in the middle of all the rubble was six year old Cherokee Rose Dixon.

Rosie shut off the water and wrapped herself in a towel. She threw her hair up in a towel too- It was long enough now to deserve its own towel. She'd thought about cutting it, but truthfully she couldn't bear to part with it. If you put Rosie up against a picture of her mother, she'd look almost like an exact copy, a little taller perhaps with sapphire blue eyes and a bad attitude, but still so alike. So she chose not to chop it off. She left it hanging to air-dry and went back to the room to search for a semi-clean set of clothes to wear. Her feet kicked away old dirty clothes strewn around the floor, save for the bra she needed, discarded haphazardly during last night's rendezvous. A fairly clean, yet ripped pair of jean shorts, a threadbare cami, and her father's vest was acceptable enough for Rosie.

She didn't even glance at the figure beneath the covers before exiting the loft via the window and fire escape.

Dusk was just starting to fall on the horizon, and it was still an unbearably hot fall evening in Alexandria. Rosie walked down the road a bit, stopping to admire the atmosphere. There were so many new moms and dads out for a walk with their babies. Rosie passed a few- didn't even acknowledge their existence. They didn't acknowledge her's. Overall, it was just like any other typical night. No one was afraid of walkers or bad people anymore, and this baffled Rosie every time she thought about it, even made her chuckle a few times. These people were so naive; they had no idea all this could be taken from them in the blink of an eye. Rosie knew better.

Her destination was a dirty run-down house at the end of the safe zone, situated a little ways away from the rest of the community. No one payed much attention to it. A bunch of brothers used to live there but right now it just sat in silence, waiting for Aaron to find another group to fill it. Even after 20 years people still wandered the roads. Rosie understood; they didn't want to see any more people. They had the same past experiences as she did.

Rosie bounded up the front porch steps, two at a time. Music was blaring from inside already and it wasn't even dark yet, an indication it was going to be a long night. She recognized the song, "I'd Do Anything" by Simple Pan. It'd played before in the house. There were at least 30 - 40 other people there already, most of them born after their parents settled in Alexandria. Someone was handing out free booze and she didn't hesitate to accept that offer. She'd read the books from before the Turn, books about adolescence and experimentation. Guess some things don't change, even if the dead started roaming the earth.

The only light sources in the room were flashlights set up on tables in the corners. If no one lived in the house Rick and Carl, damn sheriffs who thought they ran the place, cut the electricity and water supply. So when the jumpy little red head leaning on some guy's shoulder across the room started puking her guts out it was just left there for someone to fall in later. No way to clean it up so why bother to try?

Rosie sat back against the couch and took another couple gulps of her beer. It was badly brewed, probably from scratch, but it felt damn good going down. She surveyed the room, looking for something to occupy her attention. That was her primary reason for coming to these things anyway. Rosie hated socializing, preferred to watch people from a safe distance, but she needed those connections to fix her up with whatever she needed to get through another day.

Her piercing blue eyes landed on the intriguing young man in the center of the room, the one attracting all the ladies she noticed. Rosie sipped her beer ever so slowly, studying him from across the room. He didn't have a shirt on at the moment, revealing quite the chiseled chest and sculpted arms. He had to be at least six feet tall with deep dark brown eyes, almost black, and dark hair to match. He seemed to be quite the ladies' man, having done nothing to deserve all the attention he was getting. "Yeah, that's going to change," Rosie mumble setting down her beer. She stood gingerly, brushing her legs off a bit before making her way towards the center of the room. She couldn't have been gladder that she'd left her hair down; it dried long, blond, and curly. That, plus her thin and slightly curvy frame, made for everything a man enjoyed.

Rosie was heading straight for him. He couldn't help but take notice. Her eyes nailed him in place. Those piercing blue eyes her father gave her never failed to attract attention whenever she wanted it. But this was no time to be thinking of her father. She knew if he were still alive he'd probably kill her for the numerous stupid shit she'd done. but that was just it… He wasn't alive, not anymore. But he would, Rosie knew.

Rosie was none-too-kind to to the childish, yet older women surrounding her target. She pushed and shoved, slapping away their hands and shooting at least three of them dirty looks while placing her left hand against the man's sternum. Once Rosie set her eye on something, she was almost too protective of it, possessive even. His skin was burning from the alcohol flowing through his veins. Rosie liked it when they had a bit of alcohol in them though- kept them docile and _very_ turned-on. She pressed her whole body up against him, running her hands down his surprisingly muscular arms, grinding her hips into his. Oh, he was turned-on alright. A new song played in the background. Rosie recognized it as "Losing Grip" by Avril Lavigne. Truthfully it wasn't her favorite.

She stood on tip-toes to reach his ear. "Do you wanna get outta here?"

She didn't even wait for his answer before taking hold of his hand and leading the way to the back of the house. No doubt he was eager too; she could practically feel a drunken grin plastered all over his face. They always grinned at her like that. Once outside she practically threw him against the wall of the house, hands and lips roaming everywhere. Deftly, she reached into his back jean pocket and removed the baggie of pills she saw earlier, popping one in her mouth. It wasn't coated and stuck going down her throat. She didn't even know what it was, but like that matters. Give it 15 minutes and Rosie knew she'd have a nice buzz going, making the world around her fuzzy and forgetful. The man in front of her was already high, on what she didn't know and didn't care.

That was the problem with Rosie, and she knew it: She couldn't care less about the world or the people around her. She could care less whether she lived or died. It was only a matter of time anyway before death came knocking on her door- on everyone's doors.

And just when it looked like tonight was going to be great, the pill kicking in and physical need beginning to take over common sense, Rosie heard the faintest of moans coming from just inside the inner wall of Alexandria, followed by . The outer wall was old, easily capable of being breached by a herd or a group of people. The inner wall was built not ten feet from the old one, sturdier but still just wood and wrought iron. Rick had become complacent in his old age. Carl was just vindictive, always looking to play cowboy to the nearest weak civilian. Walkers got in all the time, and the sheriff department took them out one-by-one. Never mind the source of the problem.

"Fuck shit," Rosie groaned and pushed off the man in front of her. She spun around, wielding the bone knife in her right hand. It was dark but Rosie could vaguely make out the silhouette of an older woman, skin nearly gone with decay and rot. She was stark naked and all her hair had fallen out long ago. This thing was so weak Rosie almost felt bad making it come to her. But in the end, it was only just a _thing_. It staggered, arms stretched out, swaying back and forth, hungry for meat and thirsty for my blood. She let it come as close as it wanted, kicked its legs out from under her. Quick, with only half the force she would normally use to take down a predator, Rosie thrust her bone knife through the creature's skull. It was a sickly gurgling sound and black blood leached out of the crevice. The boy behind her was backed all the way against the wall practically screaming his lungs out. _At her or the walker?_

Rosie shrugged, blowing the whole event off completely, walking back into the house to retrieve another beer. "Think I wore out the buzz on that walker." Pathetic. Pills were hard to come by nowadays. Rosie grabbed another homemade brew from the cooler and _almost_ took another sip… before the red and blue lights came flashing across the ceiling and driveway. Carl acquired a police cruiser last year and he loved to show it off. Typical Carl Grimes. But Rosie didn't have time to complain about him or his ego. Those lights were getting closer. Panic set in, everyone running around, going nowhere, frantically trying to sneak off the premises and run home before Carl, Rick, and Judith realize they're here. The Grimes family- cops who too cocky for their own good. It didn't matter that Rick had taken Rosie under his wing when her parents died. She just hated living with them all, plain and simple.

She was running through the house, tripping over fallen bodies caught in the chaos. Pure chaos. Darkness fell a few hours ago; Rosie knew the house and the terrain like the back of her hand, she walked, or stumbled, through it so many times. Now as she ran from the house through the back yard towards the inner fence, her instincts were on full alert and the body matching her pace alongside her came into view. It moved too fast to be a walker. Fuckin' sherrifs.

"Rosie Dixon!"

Fuckin' Hell! It was Carl. Judith she could handle, even Rick, but Carl would never quit till she knocked him senseless.

"Rosie!"

She wasn't going to make it to the fence. Instead, she stopped immediately, causing Carl to run into her back. She swung round, wielding her bone knife, similar to her walker kill. But she had no intention of killing him, that wasn't who she was. A swift round kick to the ribs and Carl was flat on the ground. No talk, just grunts and painful moans coming from his mouth. Rosie was straddling him, about to redecorate his body with fresh scars, but that wasn't going to happen. She was blinded. Damn headlights! Judith and Rick put the cars in park and aimed their weapons at Rosie. Her knife was fisted in her right hand, still raised to strike. There was nothing but the knife and the heavy breathing, sweat dripping down her forehead. She shouldn't be this agitated, Rosie knew that, but it's still fucking frustrating the Grimes just wouldn't leave her alone. What was she, some problem child?

"Lucky ass," Rosie whispered standing again, looming over Carl who looked like he could kill her on the spot for getting the one-up on him. Rosie turned to look into the bright headlights, shielding her eyes partially to make out the figures of Rick and Judith coming her way. She also heard the signature scrape of metal on metal as Carl got to his feet with a set of handcuffs. Rosie laughed at the historic idea of handcuffing someone. What good did it do? Rick and Michonne were judge, jury, and executioners. Rosie used to read about the idea of "democracy" and "trial by jury." As much as she found those Old World concepts amusing, nothing about them was practical anymore. Nothing about the world before the Turn was practical anymore.

"Evenin', Sheriffs." Rosie smiled at the approaching Rick and Judith while Carl, none too gently, slipped her wrists through the cuffs.

"You're a giant pain in my ass, you know that?!" Carl seethed.

"Does it turn you on, sheriff Grimes?" _Southern sass. A true natural._

That remark earned her a knee to the back and she ended up face-down in the Georgia dirt.. It was painful, but Rosie could care less at the moment. She was looking for a fight...and somehow she always managed to cross the Grimes family in the process.

"You're lucky he doesn't just throw you outside the walls right now," Judith mumbled as she and Rick surveyed the scene.

"Go ahead," Rosie said to the dirt. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

"No...You really don't, Rosie." Rick's voice was firm, serious. No doubt he was still haunted by memories of his group's hardships on the road.

"Whatever, Rick. Ain't my decision anyway."

Eyes closed. Face-down in the dirt. Rosie felt like nothing. Nobody. She tuned the world out for a few minutes...which of course turned into a few hours. The adrenaline left her body. The buzz from the homemade alcohol burned out. Now she was keenly aware of exhaustion settling in her bones, knowing that when she woke Rosie would be in for the lecture of a lifetime.

Just another day in Alexandria. Another shitty day for Dixon.


End file.
